


Let My Mind Reset

by FoundInTheStars



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hallucinations, Hurt Peter Quill, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peter Quill Whump, Protective Gamora (Marvel), Protective Peter Quill, Psychological Torture, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19931005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoundInTheStars/pseuds/FoundInTheStars
Summary: Just when she accepted their victory; a sharp, piercing wail filled the hallway with merciless intensity. Gamora whipped her head toward the other end of the hall just in time to witness the diffusion of pink gas approaching them at a rapid pace.Or, Peter is exposed to a gas that causes hallucinations based on what the victim fears the most.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> I've decided to do a mini-story of sorts. This one is going to be an angsty one, and it will consist of three chapters. This first one is mostly going to set the pace for the second chapter, but by all means please enjoy!
> 
> Without further ado, let the angst commence.

“I’m like 75 percent sure this won’t explode on us.”

Peter fiddled with the makeshift device in his hands, reworking the wiring as he fought the apparent frown creeping up on his face.

“Well, that’s certainly better than 12 percent,” Gamora deadpanned, the tone of her voice suggesting an eye roll.

“That means that there’s still a 25 percent chance it _will_ explode and kill us all,” Rocket said. “And that’s more than 12 percent too, you d’ast idiot!”

“Enough with the percentages! Your math makes my head hurt,” Drax said.

“I am Groot!”

“Why do you speak of percentages? What is their purpose?” Mantis questioned. 

“Oh, that’s right! Bug lady never had to hear about your flarkin’ self-sacrificial dance off that nearly killed us all!”

“It wasn’t a danc— Hey! Are you forgetting that plan saved an entire planet from genocide?” Peter allowed his grip to loosen around the explosive as his eyes shot daggers at Rocket.

“Yeah, and are _you_ forgetting that the stone from that same plan almost disintegrated us out of existence?”

“Both of you, quiet!” Gamora hissed. “Your bickering can wait until we are no longer being kept against our will!”

Peter stifled a comeback as he looked at Gamora’s no-nonsense face. He heard Rocket muttering something about needing to listen to his girlfriend, and he threw him one last glare before turning back towards the weapon in his hands.

After the newly acquired Benatar had been shot down into the atmosphere of an unknown planet, they were apprehended by supporters of Ronan and his cause. Were it not for being stunned by the force of the crash, they might have been able to evade being captured. Peter found himself bewildered that after all that time following Ronan’s death, his sympathizers still lingered across the galaxy. He had never really taken into consideration that although Ronan died, the mutual hatred for both Xandar and the Guardians of the Galaxy lived on.

Sure, in hindsight, anyone with common sense would be wary of future conflict with Ronan’s associates. But they were dealing with beings much more powerful and worrisome as of late, and handling the fallout of Ego across the galaxy took priority over anything else.

Also, Peter wasn’t exactly known for his common sense.

The situation they were in wasn’t entirely unique for them. At least, it was similar to the short period of incarceration they served in the Kyln. Even still, Peter hated the feeling. It felt all too much like the night he was taken by the Ravagers—his knees against the cold and mushy grass, staring up at a paralyzing beam of light. For a long time, Peter felt like he was a prisoner on the Ravager ship. 

He really, really hated feeling like a prisoner.

Peter looked up from the device and surveyed his team. They were all seated apart along the walls of the dimly lit room—struggling vainly against the magnetic bonds which stretched across their torsos and bound their wrists. 

The walls of the cell were fashioned with a smooth metal that held each one their respective bonds in place. They were forced up against it, separated from each other and well outside of arms reach. The frigid floor was stained with various shades of color—appearing tacky and viscous upon the flat surface. Peter originally kept himself occupied by guessing the species that each blood stain belonged to, but the prospect of the game became depressing the more and more he thought about it. 

He had to resist the urge to blow the entire place up as the fluorescent lights above them assaulted his eardrums with an ungodly buzzing noise. Peter couldn’t _really_ complain though, as the flickering light they released was bright enough for him to work on their only hope of escape.

It wasn’t a highly sophisticated chamber. For any other prisoner, the cell could have been described as functional at best. After only a short period of captivity, Rocket had deduced that the magnetic bonds were linked to the same mechanisms as the chamber’s entrance. A blow to the circuitry of the door would temporarily shut down the mainframes of both the entryway and the electronic bonds. 

Peter never thought he would be grateful for Rocket’s constant need to fashion bombs out of pieces of the ship. It had been infuriating on the Milano, but even more so with the Benatar. There wasn’t one step Peter took that didn’t cross paths with the unfinished remnants of Rocket’s next project. 

With some stroke of luck, Peter shoved one of them into the inner pocket of his jacket without detection as they were forced out of the Benatar. He knew that they would be stripped of their less subtle weapons, and so for once he was thankful for the small contraption.

The rest of the team seemed about as grateful as he was when he somehow maneuvered the device out of his jacket using his cuffed hands. He was mostly satisfied that he was able to step up and act like their actual captain again after everything that had happened. 

Peter hesitated before activating the device. Bombs were more Rocket’s thing, but he was the closest to the entryway and had the d’ast thing on him anyway. It was a struggle though, trying to alter the explosive to implode at an intensity safe enough from the distance they were at. The device could only be thrown so far, and the circuitry was right there.

So maybe blowing up the cell they’re trapped in wasn’t the smartest plan, but it was the only kind of plan they had left.

“As soon as this thing blows we run like crazy,” Peter said. 

Rocket nodded. “The Benatar’s hull is damaged, but the engines should be working fine. Our weapons are stored in the room over, and hopefully if I’m right, the blast should deactivate the automatic locking systems for all surrounding rooms,” he said.

“Correction. Grab our shit, then run like crazy.”

Gamora looked over at Peter—unease flashing on her face as her gaze flickered to the explosive in his lap.

“Are you sure this plan is safe?”

“No.”

“Peter—”

“It’s the safest plan we have ‘Mora,” he said. “The blast shouldn’t be too big, and I’m gonna get it as far away as I can.”

“Okay.” She relaxed a little—her look of concern morphing into conceded determination. “Is everyone ready?”

“Yes.”

“Go for it.”

“Ready.”

“I am Groot.”

“Let’s do this,” Peter said. He placed the device between his bound hands and reached out for the trigger—using as much force as he could to throw the bomb towards the entryway. Peter held his breath and prayed to no one in particular.

Being taken from Terra at such a young age meant that he hadn't brought many memories of religion with him. He remembered going to church a few times with his grandpa after his mom had been diagnosed, but nothing from those few times stood out to him. Peter didn’t know if he believed in any god, but he did believe in the Universe.

He had seen it. Even disguised as eternity, he had seen its incredible vastness and ascendency. Peter’s eyes had been filled with stars and galaxies stretching on for infinity in every direction. It was equal parts terrifying and enticing. The Universe. The Universe was something he could believe in.

After all, it had given them so much shit—it was only fair that one thing go right for once. The natural law of the Universe, Peter thought.

-o-

The next thing he knew, he was being shaken—the cool metal once against his back now against his cheek as he stirred on the floor. Peter noticed immediately how his wrists throbbed with the sudden absence of the bonds. He opened his eyes slowly, wondering when they had closed in the first place. 

Gamora kneeled beside him, shaking his shoulder frantically. She mouthed something that he couldn’t catch before grabbing him and forcing him upwards. 

The abrupt movement snapped Peter into awareness. Memories of only moments before came rushing forward along with the rest of his senses—his hearing finally picking up on the blaring alarm and Gamora’s frantic pleas. He ran his palm across his face, smearing the steadily oozing gash on his forehead. Peter ignored the way his hair felt sticky and matted at the back of his head. He supposed it could have been way worse. 

Peter did not expect the blast to have that much power behind it.

“Please, Peter. We have to go _now_.” Her face was taut with worry and her voice reverberated with an urgency he knew she reserved for when things were going awry.

Peter wavered as he got onto his feet, attempting to shake the creeping black dots from his vision. His ears rang from the force of the blow, which only served to agitate his headache along with the alarm. He gathered his bearings and allowed himself to lean on Gamora for a second in order to wave off the incoming vertigo.

“You said this plan was safe. You said the explosion wouldn't be big!” Gamora screamed. 

Okay, so maybe she didn't scream, but his migraine sure made it sound that way.

“I say a lot of things.” Peter said with a groan. He favored his aching side as he trudged on—hoping she was following behind when he crossed into the long corridor.

Gamora frowned and sped up to move beside him. She grabbed his arm and led them towards the room where their weapons were being stored. The voices of their teammates sounded muffled behind the door while the distant shouting of Kree purists became louder as they came closer to the Guardian’s breached cell. 

The door flew open just as Peter and Gamora prepared to enter. Drax stood at the entrance, tossing each one of their respective weapons and gadgets towards them. 

“Good to see you up from your nap Star-Munch. What ever happened to ‘run like crazy’?” Rocket cocked one of his many guns and slung it over his shoulder. When he looked over at Peter’s battered appearance, he almost appeared guilty for the ill-timed jab.

Before Peter could respond, the sound of the radicals approaching shook him from his thoughts.

“Let's kick some Kree ass.”

-o-

Gamora could hold her own in a battle.

She knew this of herself and suspected that the others knew this to be true as well. It wasn’t anything surprising. For as long as she could remember, Gamora was accustomed to the life of an assassin. Thanos had made sure she was this way—fierce enough to face any challenge that an opponent could bring in combat. She would never give _him_ the credit though. Peter was always going on about the importance of recognizing her own ‘achievements’.

Whether he knew this of her or not, Peter had a tendency to try to protect her no matter the cost. He tried to explain it as some endearing need to make sure she didn't get hurt.

Part of her found this infuriating. She was not weak or in need of saving. In fact, more times than not, his fragile Terran anatomy got him into trouble whereas her modifications could take the extra damage. Sometimes she wished she could slap him whenever he threw himself in the middle of chaos to save her from harm.

Another part of her, deeper down and more secluded, loved him for it. No one had ever shown any semblance of concern for her or made any effort to sacrifice their own safety just so she could walk away unscathed. As much as she hated it, she had to admit that it was at least a little lovable.

She could tell that this time was no different.

The team made their way out of the abandoned warehouse-style building, where she suspected the Ronan sympathizers carried out all of their dirty work. Rocket and Peter shot at them as they ran while Gamora, Drax, and Mantis took care of their closer-ranged enemies. Groot was tucked away one of her inner pockets, clinging onto her shirt as she took out their rivals with swift stabs from her Godslayer. 

She kept her eye on Peter as much as she could throughout their escape. Gamora had gotten familiar with all of his quirks and tells since they first met on Xandar. She knew him well enough to know when he was attempting to downplay his injuries, or when he was hiding his vulnerabilities behind a wall of rock-hard confidence. She didn’t miss how he winced with the sound of each shot or how each step became more sluggish than the last. Gamora was never a nurturing person (living under Thanos meant all attention had to be focused towards her own survival), but Peter brought out a fierce overprotectiveness she never even knew she had. Every fiber of her being wanted to reach out and comfort him. She pushed back her sentiment and used her need to defend him as motivation in eliminating their adversaries. 

Peter fought well regardless of his ailments, firing his blasters in all directions while leading them towards the Benatar. If the light at the end of the corridor was any indication, they were nearing escape. The radicals were lessening in number, and the last few guards fell unceremoniously to the floor with each blast. 

Oddly enough, the hallway soon contained no more than unmoving bodies. For a moment Gamora believed they were going to pull their plan off with only a few, recoverable complications. 

Rocket, Drax, and Mantis scurried ahead as Gamora made her way alongside Peter. She placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuring and stabilizing. The sway of his frame would’ve just as easily gone unnoticed, unperceivable to anyone who didn’t know where to look. Peter flashed a lopsided smile and nodded, giving an inaudible thanks for her support. Gamora smiled back—a testament to their silent language.

They were masters of unspoken things, after all.

“Hurry up and get movin’ alright? You two can tongue wrestle on the ship.” Rocket stood outside the warehouse, making room on his shoulder for Groot once he had hopped out of Gamora’s pocket.

“Why would Quill and Gamora wrestle with their tongues?” Drax made his way out of the warehouse, Mantis trailing close behind.

“No, it’s just a meta—”

“It would be much more practical to use their bodies.”

“Forget it!” Rocket yelled. 

Gamora suppressed a laugh and led Peter down the corridor by his wrist. The door was a few feet ahead of them at most, but it still seemed too far away. She couldn't stand to be in there for another second.

Just when she accepted their victory; a sharp, piercing wail filled the hallway with merciless intensity. Gamora whipped her head toward the other end of the hall just in time to witness the diffusion of pink gas approaching them at a rapid pace.

Peter recognized the threat in time to grab onto her, acceptance washing over his face. The look filled Gamora with dread. She did not want to consider the thoughts of self-sacrifice wracking his brain.

She barely had enough time to protest or interpret his actions before he acted on them. The only exit to the building began to close, the alarm signaling their inevitable confinement. Before she knew what was happening, Peter shoved her outside at the very last moment.

“Peter!” Gamora yelled instinctively. The door was cracked open enough for her to watch as the gas engulfed him whole.

Gamora almost cried out with relief when Drax caught the door before it sealed. He grunted as the pressure increased against his grasp, but managed to crack it open more. The rest of the team came to his aid, pushing at the flexible metal until it was open wide enough for Peter to make his way through.

When she saw Peter emerge from the colorful fog, a small cry _did_ escape from her lips. He staggered outside, eyes glazed as he coughed into his inner-elbow.

“What the hell was that?!” Rocket yelled, pulling at his fur.

“A trap,” Mantis theorized. “We thought we had achieved our escape, but they had planned this all along.”

“It would be wise to return to the ship. Now.” Drax said.

Peter moved his feet onward, looking unsure of where to place them upon the floor. He pitched forward and Gamora engulfed him into her grasp. She looked down at him with hair covered eyes, and was greeted by his pale and sweaty face. Peter’s pupils appeared more dilated than usual, the comforting green of his irises consumed by empty black. Gamora could feel his arms trembling as they gripped onto hers. 

“He’s been drugged.” Gamora was surprised by how coarse her voice sounded. “I- I don't know with what. We need to go to Xandar.” She bit her lip and tried to cease the sheer panic coursing through her veins.

And with that, Peter’s grip on her arms slacked. She let out a surprised gasp as he slumped forward in her grasp, losing complete consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheesh, Peter can't catch a break in my fics. I may have an unhealthy obsession with Peter Quill angst/whump. 
> 
> If you enjoyed and would like this to continue please leave kudos and or any feedback you may have. Also, leave predictions on what will happen next!
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind comments on the last chapter!
> 
> Please enjoy the second chapter, as per usual, it's an angst fest.

At first, the only discernible thing Peter could make out was the raging fire burning inside of his lungs. He had an unexplainable urge to claw at his chest in an attempt to open himself up and stop it, but as soon as he felt his nails digging into his skin the action was put to a halt. An unknown force pinned his arms to their sides.

“N- No. Fire.” Peter gasped. Something must have replied after, but the words were jumbled and sounded like a fork caught in a garbage disposal to his ears.

His eyes were shut, but he began to hear persistent wheezing fill the space around him. In the back of his head he knew that the sound must have been him, but a loud and unrecognizable voice began to list off all the possible threats that the sound could have been coming from. Peter tried to reason with the unwelcome instinct, but he found the familiar voice in the back of his head begin to slip away. 

A softer, gentler pair of hands rested themselves onto his chest. He wanted to lean into the touch and beg it to take his pain away, but his brain screamed threat over and over in a constant loop.

He finally opened his eyes. The blinding light made his head swirl; he felt as if the fire in his lungs was trying to escape through his eye sockets. Peter winced and tried to focus on the person sitting over him. There was a swift flash of green before his head began to reform the image in front of him. He wanted to question it, but the voice reminded him that this was normal. 

When his brain decided to cooperate Peter took in the figure before him. His chest tightened and the fire spread to his heart. It caught his breath and he had to bite his lip to keep from screaming out. 

He was panicking now, that's what this was. Pure, unadulterated panic. Peter wasn't a stranger to panic attacks. He had an eventful life, to say the least, and often felt himself struggling to handle the copious amount of anxiety that came with his lifestyle. Peter wasn’t proud of it; he was embarrassed and honestly surprised that his team had never seen him in the midst of one before—excluding Gamora. He didn't know where they were now, but once again he was glad they weren't there to watch him succumb to his panic.

Sitting over him was his mother. He would recognize her face anywhere. Peter dreamt about her nearly every night since he was abducted. Every day he would picture her face in his head, swearing to himself that he would not forget. He didn’t have to do that though. The image of her face as she closed her eyes for the last time was seared into his brain, a memory he couldn't forget even if he tried.

“Peter.”

The voice was unmistakably hers. His hands shook at his sides, still being pinned down by a figure who appeared warped and fuzzy. Peter’s pulse throbbed in his ears and the corners of his vision darkened with each agonizing breath. Breathing seemed impossible. Too much to ask.

“M-mom?” His voice was admittedly pitiful.

Her skin was vibrant, lively, and beautiful; something Peter hadn’t seen since before she was undergoing treatment. She even had her gorgeous blonde locks, cascading down her shoulders with a motherly grace that was so true to her essence. The corners of her lips were lifted in a soft smile, a smile that promised nothing except _good_. Peter began to feel the panic slip away. Although, that thought itself brought back another wave of panic. She was here. She was here to comfort him like she had when he was still a kid.

“How—”

“Why did you do it Peter?” Her grin twisted into a scowl and her brow furrowed in disapproval. 

“Do what?” Peter's voice broke. The words left his mouth with a small whimper. He felt eight again.

Meredith removed her hands from his chest, though the pressure lingered as if they hadn't left at all. She leaned back and looked at him with disgust.

“You killed him.”

She didn't mean Ego. She couldn't mean _him._

“Who?”

“You’re not a stupid boy, Peter. Quit acting like it.”

Peter thought that the last words she had ever spoke to them were tragic enough. Her last wish to hold his hand was something that haunted him daily. It was something he carried deeply within himself. Peter never thought there would be more last words to be spoken, and he certainly didn't expect to be so hurt by them. The fire spread to his stomach, clawing at his insides and threatening his esophagus with rising bile. 

“I loved him. I loved him and you killed him!”

“H- He killed _you_ , mom.”

“I died because of you, Peter. If it weren't for you, he would have stayed.”

Rivulets of tears cascaded down his face. Before he could even reply, she disappeared and merged with the unfamiliar shapes dancing across his vision. A tightness erupted across his chest and he flinched violently away from the figure. 

_No._

_Threat._

_Don't deserve to be touched._

The voice inside got louder and louder. He tried lifting his arms in order to bang the noise out of his head. It didn't seem rational, even to Peter, but he was willing to try anything. He scrunched his eyes closed and pushed his head hard against the floor. The knot on the back of his head protested the movement.

“Let go! St- Stop the voice. You’re not real!” The tears only increased. They caught in the back of his throat and threatened to drown him. That wasn’t his mother. It couldn’t be. 

Except it felt so real. His head continued to swirl.

“Stop, please. I can't take it,” he yelled out.

Peter could hear soft murmurs in the distance. The words seemed unattainable even as he focused on them. He wanted to hear them. He screamed at the voice to let him hear them.

Then, there was a squeeze of his hand. It felt far away—seemingly disconnected from his stage of reality. But there was still something comforting about the sensation. Peter took in a deep breath, although shaky, and tried to relax himself.

He held onto the lifeline, squeezing back at it when the fire spread into his head. The pressure lessened against his arms, but they remained motionless at his side. He felt himself slipping away slowly. As the darkness began to claim him, a cool chill ran through his body. 

Something told Peter that it was going to get a whole lot worse.

-o-

When they finally got on the Benatar, Gamora was furious. Furious at the Ronan sympathizers. Furious at the universe. 

Furious at Peter.

She knew she had no right to be surprised. This was just another case of Peter being Peter. Protecting her was second nature for him. 

The first time Peter saved her they were in the Kyln. He had used his self-proclaimed ‘charm’ to convince Drax not to kill her right there and then. 

The memory brought a sneer to her face, and she advised herself to go harder on Drax the next time they engaged in a sparring session. 

She was irked by Peter’s actions back then. No one ever did anything amiable without their own hidden agenda behind it. He was expecting a reward, a mandatory prize for his actions. Gamora thought Peter had proven her correct when he pulled the stunt with his Walkman on Knowhere. Pelvic sorcery. Typical.

But then he was saving her again. Peter removed his own mask in deep space to save her life. A death sentence. He saved her life even after she held a knife to his throat that same night. Gamora didn’t know what to make of it. 

And then he was doing it again. More subtle actions; jumping in front of her when someone appeared threatening in any form, yelling at someone who questioned her good will after ‘everything she’d done for the galaxy’, sending quick glances over to make sure she was okay during missions.

Peter protected her so much they weren’t actions anymore; it was just, Peter. It was him. Gamora expected it now, although she tried to do the same in return. 

If she thought it was a little lovable before, she didn't now. She never wanted to see him this way again.

They had just made it onto the Benatar when Peter began to thrash around in Drax’s arms. He still appeared unconscious, though soft groans escaped his lips as he fought Drax’s grasp with what little fight he had left.

“Set him down for a second, would ya?” Rocket made a pinched up face and crossed his arms.

Drax set Peter down on the floor, a temporary spot until they could figure out what the hell was going on.

“Rocket, set course for Xandar. We don't know what this is yet.” 

_If it’s deadly for Terrans,_ she left unsaid.

Rocket nodded and made his way to the cockpit. He must have set the ship on autopilot because he returned shortly after. As much as Rocket didn't want anyone to know, the concern he hid under a thick layer of sarcasm was painstakingly obvious.

“How is the idiot, anyway?” 

There it was.

As if on cue, a sharp gasp escaped Peter right before he began scratching at his chest, so violent that his shirt tore beneath his nails. Drax grabbed his arms and held them at his sides.

“N- No. Fire.” Peter wheezed. He kept trying to lift his arms against Drax’s force.

“I am Groot!” Groot’s eyes appeared glassy and troubled. Peter was, in a way, a father to him. Gamora had no doubt that this was traumatic for him, too.

“We don't know what’s wrong with ‘im, yet,” Rocket replied.

“Perhaps we should take him to the med-bay.” Gamora's voice came out in a small whisper. She leaned over Peter and hovered her hands above his chest. After a second of hesitation, she rested them onto him—hoping the contact would ground him.

“We have nothing that will combat poisons. Especially when we do not know which one ails Quill now.”

When Peter’s eyes flashed open Gamora noticed the wild look they held. His pupils were uneven, his left one being marginally bigger than his right. He looked into her eyes and did not break away, his face becoming a mix of panicked and disoriented.

Gamora wondered if the drug he had been administered was some form of a panic inducing stimulant. Adrenaline was a known strength for many species, but it was also a known weakness in high doses. Perhaps the Kree purists knew this to be true as well.

Gamora would have believed this were it not for the way Peter was looking at her now. It was almost like he was looking through her, staring through a glass screen at something entirely different. He was hyperventilating, heartbeat fluttering at rapid speeds as he continued to stare her down. She felt uncomfortable in a way that she never had while being in his gaze before.

There was a quick shift in his face, a puzzled look, like he was listening to something being spoken. She recognized the signs, a miniscule head tilt and slow parting of his lips. His breathing became deeper, but more frantic.

“M-mom?”

Gamora’s heart all but combusted and died inside of her. She sucked in a deep breath and glanced over at her team.

“I know this drug.” She spoke with a mournful expression and ran a palm down the side of his cheek, knowing that Peter was too far gone to feel the sensation properly. “It’s a hallucinogen. Thanos—”

She sighed and held onto her composure.

“Thanos used it on his children when they misbehaved. It is a powerful psychedelic. It finds out what you fear the most and uses hallucinations to weaken you mentally.” Gamora ignored the horror on the faces of her friends. 

“He can only see and hear what the hallucinations want him to. We can't help him.”

“You're saying there’s really nothing we can do for Pete?”

Gamora shook her head.

“Nothing except waiting for the drug to leave his system. Maybe... Maybe by the time we get to Xandar...” She trailed off.

_If the drug doesn't kill him first._

“How—” 

Gamora and the Guardians watched as Peter engaged in a conversation with a hallucination that they could not hear or see. She didn't need to hear in order to know that the conversation was sickening, though. Gamora didn't mention it to them, but she had experienced the drug’s torture firsthand. It had subjected her to witness the murdering of her people on a constant loop.

Peter was stuck in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

They sat there, quiet and patient. Each one was stilled by the realization that they could do nothing to ease his suffering.

“H- He killed you, mom.”

 _Ego._ Of course, him. The drug was using his own mother to bring the horror of Ego back into his mind. Peter’s voice wavered as he spoke, and the sound felt like a knife to her stomach.

The hallucination must have achieved what it wanted because the look on Peter's face was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was worse than when Peter was sobbing into Yondu’s corpse. Worse than the time he told her that Ego was responsible for his mother’s death.

Gamora couldn’t even imagine what it had made his mother say to him.

It didn't take long for tears to begin flowing down his face. He appeared distressed in a way that Gamora never thought possible. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his chest and absorbed him into her embrace.

Peter and Gamora agreed to take things slow upon the revelation of their unspoken thing. Both agreed to explore their relationship over time, not rushing into anything either one of them was not ready for. It made sense; Peter was still mourning and Gamora was still getting used to opening herself up to another person.

Taking things slow meant a lot of unsure hugs and reluctant hand-holds. They danced and sometimes cuddled and showed their affection with genuine smiles and late-night conversations. They were happy. There was no point in hurrying things along.

So, she knew not to be hurt when he flinched away from her. Gamora was aware of Peter’s aversion to physical contact during a panic attack; she knew it wasn't personal. He wasn't in the right state of mind and on top of it all he was drugged and discombobulated.

Gamora let go and sat back.

Peter struggled to get his hands up as Drax continued to press his arms down. Gamora gasped when Peter banged his head back onto the floor. His eyes were shut, sweat glistening his forehead as he grew increasingly troubled each second.

“Let go! St- Stop the voice. You’re not real!” 

Gamora’s heart broke again. She wanted to stop it. She would do anything to stop him from hurting.

“Stop, please. I can't take it,” he screamed.

“We cannot just sit here and watch this continue,” Drax said, maintaining his grip for the human’s own safety.

“Xandar is one day cycle away at least.” Rocket said.

“If you would permit it,” Mantis turned towards Gamora, “I could attempt to calm him.”

Gamora swallowed and made a quick nod of approval.

Mantis reached out and took his hand, a stark transformation from the head touch she used with Ego. Gamora suspected she changed this due to her displeasure for the customary duty she was forced to perform while she was under his control.

Drax let go of Peter’s arms when Mantis made sure that he was calm enough to not injure himself. Gamora watched as Peter’s muscles visibly relaxed and he let out a long sigh. She could tell the moment he lost consciousness, his head lolling over to his shoulder. Mantis let go of his hand as soon as his unconsciousness was apparent and fell back into Drax’s arms—sobbing with intense grief.

Gamora wiped the sheen of sweat from Peter’s brow and tucked his curls behind his ear. 

It wasn't over for him, yet.

-o-

Peter wasn't sure where he was, but it was dark.

He jolted up from the cold, unforgiving floor while the smell of copper infiltrated his senses. He ran his palm across his midsection, trying to gain control of the increasing anxiety taking form in rapid and uncontrollable shakes throughout his body. Peter could hardly cease the ragged nature of his breathing as he feared the prominent metal aroma was of his own creation. His theory was proven correct when he pulled his hand back into view and was greeted by streams of blood running down his forearm.

Peter ignored his injuries and used whatever strength his feeble arms were able to provide in order to get back on his feet. His body screamed for rest as he grabbed onto the rusted metal beam which hung onto the corner of the abandoned ship that he had woken up in—alone and without explanation. 

Peter held his forehead against the wall and rested his eyes while enjoying the relief of the cool metal. The temperature felt nice against his bruised skin. It even provided a reprieve for his brain which was working to its breaking point trying to summon a memory of the moments that had led him to his current predicament. His eyelashes fluttered rapidly as he tried to keep his eyes open.

Peter pushed himself off the wall and forced his weary legs to make the journey through the desolate space. Though he could not remember the events prior to coming to on the floor of the ship, one persistent thought echoed within him. A nagging feeling screamed at Peter to find someone whose name he could not recall. Quick. Before she’s gone, it demanded.

His slow, zombie-like reel morphed into a pitiful run as his intuition grew stronger. Peter threw his head right, left, right, left—searching every room as if his life depended on it. He dragged himself forward with every step, pitching over and holding one arm over his steadily oozing stomach.

Peter shut his eyes once more and carried on with great difficulty. As he took a meager inch forward, his foot made instant contact with an unseen object strewn across the rigid concrete. Peter fell forward with a grunt and held onto his injury as he laid by the mass; his eyes clenched shut as he hissed with every breath that rattled at his sore rib cage. Once Peter was able to will his eyes to open, he wished they hadn’t.

Scattered across the ground in a disconcerting and limp fashion was Gamora. Lines of dark green and clear liquid pooled onto her shirt, dripping down her neck from her ajar mouth. Her chocolate brown eyes were open, but transfixed on some faraway affair. Peter’s shell shocked face began to resemble hers as he laid sight on the scene. His eardrums cringed at the assault of the sudden heart wrenching screams that filled the room. After a moment his hoarse throat noted that they were actually coming from him.

Peter crawled over to her and wrapped two arms around her neck before laying his heavy head onto her still chest. He didn’t even flinch when the slow and forceful footsteps towered over his head.

“She warned you that this would happen.”

Peter didn’t need to look up from his position against her chest to know the name of the figure standing over them. Hot tears ran down his face and mixed with the green and red blood staining his cheek.

Gamora did warn him that this would happen. She was terrified, yet certain that Thanos would be back for her one day. There had been nights where Peter would find her sitting alone in the cockpit; she would explain to him why it was selfish for her to let the team care about her, when her life had belonged to Thanos for as long as she could remember. He never listened—never even let her entertain those thoughts.

He said they would protect her.

Peter refused to look up at the Titan.

“Why don't you just kill me already, you son of a bitch?” Peter growled through bared teeth. He had no motivation to fight anymore. His team was missing, and he was alone on what he guessed was Thanos’ ship.

He had nothing.

“I raised my daughter to be a skilled warrior. A champion. Yet, she betrays me and conspires with a Terran.”

“Disappointing.” The words rolled off his tongue with a bitter sting. His callous voice bounced off of the walls and echoed in Peter’s ears.

Peter threw his hands—now slicked green—over his ears and curled into himself.

“She’s not your daughter! You stole her from her home and killed her people!”

“We all have to make sacrifices in this life. Casualties are a small price to pay in the grand scheme of the universe, Peter.” The booming voice of Thanos morphed into the arrogant tone of Ego.

Peter cracked open his eyes to find Gamora and Thanos gone. He found himself kneeling on the surface of Ego, not far from the spot where the final battle had occurred.

“This isn't real!” Peter screamed out, pushing himself onto his unsteady feet and backing away from the celestial.

“Peter, you and I, we are alike in many ways.”

“I’m nothing like you, asshole!”

Ego laughed.

“You’re stubborn, proud, impatient. You want more than what you have.”

“That’s bullshit!” Peter yelled.

“Being mortal. It weakens you, Peter. You’re weak. That team deserves better than to be led by you.”

“Shut up! You’re not real!”

“Maybe not, but that doesn't mean I don't still exist. Don't forget that I helped to create you, Peter. The next time you look into the mirror and hate what you see, know that the parts of me that frighten you the most have been inside you this whole time.”

Peter stepped back, desperate to get as far away from Ego as possible. He moved until his back slammed against an unmoving object.

Peter whipped around, startling back as he looked up at the giant statue of his mother. The white, blank porcelain eyes of the statue began to glow with the unearthly depiction of Ego’s eternity. Peter fell down onto his backside, pushing himself away from the effigy as the tears building up in his eyes blinded him almost entirely.

“You cannot escape destiny. Gamora is destined to die at the hands of Thanos, your team—destined to fall at the hands of the foe you have created for yourselves.” 

“And you, Peter… you thought you had escaped your fate. You think that guarding the galaxy is your true calling? Well, Star-Lord, I think it better suits you to serve the rest of Eternity as the useless battery you were always meant to be.”

And with that, a debilitating and familiar light struck Peter—until all he could see was the swirling luminosity of the cosmos. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Peter! Don't worry though, the comfort portion of Hurt/Comfort is coming shortly! Peter's team will always be there to catch him when he falls.
> 
> Please leave kudos or feedback if you enjoyed! Or, if you want to be that reader who comments their favorite quotes from the chapter I'd love that too!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third and final chapter is finally here! Thank you all for reviewing and leaving kudos. It makes me very happy as a writer to know that my work is appreciated by so many of you.
> 
> That's enough of that, let's get on with the conclusion!

Gamora sat beside his bed, or, she supposed it had become _their_ bed as of late. Ever since the two announced their unspoken thing, they had become more comfortable with the prospect of sharing a bed.

While they hadn't copulated, or even _kissed,_ they still sought each other’s comfort by sometimes occupying the same quarters at night. Both had their fair share of nightmares and, while neither one was very good at coping themselves, they were pretty damn good at soothing the other after a night terror. Their bed-sharing was on and off, but Gamora found herself curled up against his chest more often than not. They hadn't discussed future living arrangements. Instead, they left it as another topic to leave unspoken.

Another part of taking things slow.

Seeing Peter jerk and recoil from the hallucinations in his head nearly made Gamora scream and say _to hell_ _with taking things slow._ She wanted to set fire to her own quarters and wrap herself around him, never letting go. Taking things slow was her idea, but in this moment she couldn't come up with a single argument to defend it. 

She explained to Peter that a little restraint would be good for them. He agreed, of course. Emotions were already running rampant after Ego, and no one was feeling much like themselves for a while after. They were just starting to feel like normal again when this of all things came to pile onto the list of issues they have to deal with. 

As if they didn't have enough anguish in their lives already.

Though that was the main reason Gamora advocated for taking things slow, she would be lying if she said that was her only concern. 

Peter had a complicated history with women. Gamora knew this ever since she met him; Peter Quill was a promiscuous man. The team oftentimes would run into a number of his old ‘flings’, he would call them, when socializing at bars or other events. His body was littered with _scars_ from many of them.

Gamora didn't judge him for his past. It was obvious that Peter was no more this man than she was still a notorious assassin. Those were parts of themselves that they had sworn off, becoming no more than a distant memory. She still couldn't help thinking that one day he would wake up and she wouldn't be enough. That one day he would decide that she paled in comparison to the women he had met during his travels. She feared he would resent her and his choice to be with her.

So, Gamora decided to take things slow. Maybe then she could stall the inevitable disappointment that would follow when he realized she wasn't what he expected. This way, she could selfishly hold onto him for as long as possible.

Watching him now, suffering through a barbaric form of psychological torture _for her,_ she could no longer believe her inner self-consciousness. It was clear that Peter Quill loved her. Mantis had made that apparent, but Peter only proved it time and time again. He loved her enough to endure so much pain and suffering. 

Gamora didn't want him to suffer for her, but if loving someone meant doing anything for that person; she would gladly stand beside him through any horrors that would befall them. She would promise to protect him as he had for her. They could protect each other.

She could make sure this never happened again.

Gamora ran the back of her hand down his face, fingers ghosting over the bandage placed on the gash he received after the explosion. She continued the movement until her hand went to cup his face. She stroked his chin with the pad of her thumb before pushing back the damp curls from his forehead. Peter’s face was tense, and his eyes moved rapidly beneath his eyelids. Occasionally, he let out a string of incoherent mumbling. Mostly, he was silent.

Half a day cycle had passed since Peter lost consciousness, but Gamora knew his mind was still active. The drug took pity on no soul. 

She sent the team away after some time. It felt pointless to have all of them there to watch his condition deteriorate. The hallucinations became progressively worse and it was apparent with both the torment in his expression and Mantis’ increasing distress from the emotions in the room.

Gamora took the liberty of cleaning up his more physical ailments. She smoothed out the wrinkled bandage that wrapped around his head and fluffed up his sweaty curls. She couldn't do much for the blood caked into his hair, but she did her best. The task distracted her from the complete helplessness that she felt inside. 

Peter made a soft groan before he bolted up into a seated position, frantic eyes darting around the room. Gamora grabbed onto his shoulders to get him to face her, but he thrashed out of her grasp and wounded up on the floor in a pile of tangled sheets. He backed himself into a corner of the room and put his forearms in front of himself.

“S- Stay back!” Peter yelled. His voice sounded watery and broken, a heartbreaking shift from his usual demeanor.

Gamora made her way off of the bed and looked at him from across the room.

“It’s me, Peter. I won't hurt you.” She tried to stop her voice from breaking, but she gasped in between words and bit back a sob.

He lowered his arms and peered over at her. 

“You’re not real.” 

Peter’s eyes were wild, his breathing fast and shallow. His whole body shook with uncontrollable fear.

She walked over towards him, each step calculated and precise, until the distance between them was far enough for his own comfort and close enough for hers.

“I promise you, Peter. It’s Gamora.” She kneeled down across from him, hoping the act would come off as non-threatening. She didn't have much experience with appearing harmless.

“It’s me,” she whispered.

Peter looked up, his eyes seeming hopeful for a moment. Just a moment.

He closed in on himself more. His hands gripped the bedsheets, his fingers turning white.

“It’s not real, not real… s'not.” He shut his eyes and repeated the phrase to himself like it was a mantra he had been holding onto his whole life.

“Peter. Please,” she begged.

Gamora closed the distance between them and reached out for his hand. 

“Take my hand, Peter.” She knew the power the phrase held. Gamora knew he would never pass up the opportunity again; she only hoped it would help now.

Peter opened his eyes and examined her expression. He looked lost in thought before grabbing onto her hand; his grip was weak, like he was afraid she would crumble away if he squeezed too hard.

Gamora looked into his eyes and watched as they softened with recognition. 

“Jus’ say whatever awful things you’re gonna say and get this over with.” He clicked his jaw and glared at the floor.

Gamora squeezed his hand and brought her other one up to cup his face. She scooted closer towards him and guided his gaze towards her.

_To hell with taking things slow._

She brought herself even closer and kissed him, soft and tender.

-o-

“Did the fake Gamora do that?” she said once she pulled away. Her hand traced his jawline and then moved down to the center of his chest.

“No,” Peter replied with a wobbly tone. “But neither did the real Gamora.”

“Exactly, so your brain has no way of knowing how that feels,” her voice was soft-spoken and kind. She continued to be patient with him. “The _hallucination_ s have no way of making you feel something you haven't felt before.”

Peter wanted to believe her.

Gamora’s lips on his felt like everything he had ever dreamt of and so much more. He had kissed so many women in his past, but none produced the pure bliss and spark he had just felt moments ago. If he wasn't still convinced she was an illusion, he would have jumped up and declared his love for her to the entire galaxy.

“Gamora?” Peter called out. He tilted his head and traced her silver scars with his eyes. She was so beautiful, and the air around her was clear and focused.

“I’m with you now. You don't have to be afraid anymore.”

Peter let out a sob that sounded devastating to his own ears before collapsing against her bonelessly and burying his head into her shoulder.

Gamora didn't attempt to shush him or placate him in any way. Instead, she held him close and whispered reassuring words into his ear, rubbing circles into his back that restored feeling into his muscles.

Peter kept his hands wrapped around her neck and rested his head onto her warm chest, feeling comforted by the rapid thumping of her heart against his flushed cheeks. She was here. Her heart was beating. 

He could breathe.

But why did it still feel like fire was consuming his entire body from the inside out? Why did it feel like he would internally combust with every breath? He kept expecting Gamora to go limp in his arms, eyes wide open and dark blood pooling from her mouth. Like she would gradually fade away into a blur of mixed shapes and colors he couldn't quite decipher.

"Th- This is real?" Peter squeezed her even tighter. "Is this real?"

“It’s over, Peter. This is real.” Gamora's voice began to shake again, and he wondered if he said the wrong thing. “We’re all okay. Everyone’s alive.”

The last thing Peter could remember was being back on Xandar. He watched as his team grabbed onto him, combusting from the intense magnitude of the Power stone—each one of them fading away as if they never existed at all.

“Everyone’s okay?”

“Yes.”

Peter took a moment to look around. They were on the floor in a pile of their own blankets and bedsheets. The Benatar. His room. 

“Uh.. What’s happening? Wh- What happened to me?”

Gamora’s face softened.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

  
  


_Pain. Purple, swirling fire coursing through his veins._

_“I died because of you, Peter.”_

_“She warned you that this would happen.”_

_His mother’s eyes warped by Ego’s eternity—taunting him and taking his breath away…._

  
  


“Peter!”

Her voice brought him back to reality.

“Breathe. Deep breaths.” She began to rub circles into his back again. “Slowly.”

It took him another minute or so to catch his breath, and he rested his forehead against her in an attempt to shake off the rising panic. His body still shook from the force of his breathing. He must have been hyperventilating.

“I’m sorry.” She sounded like she was crying now.

Peter wanted to reach over and dry her tears, but his head felt like lead as it rested on her shoulder. The only reply he could manage was a miniscule nod. 

“Do you remember the Kree purists? The gas?” She sighed shakily and ran her fingers through his hair, snagging on the thick bandage around his head.

“Kind of,” Peter narrowed his eyes in thought. In all honesty, the thinking was starting to worsen his headache.

He did remember. Pink gas engulfing him whole, Gamora in front of him, knowing that he needed to do everything in his power to get her _to safety_. 

Gamora stopped petting his hair and pulled back to look him in the eye.

“You were drugged Peter. They used a hallucinogen to make you see all of those terrible things,” Gamora shook his shoulders slightly. “None of it was real.”

“None of it.” He repeated her, partly questioning the truth of the statement and partly repeating it for his own comfort.

“None of it.” She said again, taking his hands into hers.

Peter nodded and leaned against the wall, letting go of one of her hands to rub at his tired eyes.

“How long was I…. out?”

“Half a day cycle at least. So, a while.”

He nodded again.

“Sure felt like it.”

“Peter if you want to talk about it I’m—”

His pulse skyrocketed and he grabbed back onto the sheets.

“No!”

She bit her lip and looked down, her face twisted up with guilt.

“I- I mean-,” Peter reached back out for her hand, “Not- Not now. Later, maybe. I just—”

“It’s okay, Peter. No one's going to make you if you don't feel ready.”

He gulped and nodded, choosing to stare down at their intertwined fingers.

“Xandar is still a ways away, but we are headed there now. I’d feel better if they made sure the drug has no other effects on your health.” Gamora said.

Peter made no moves to protest. Usually, he would have argued against going to a hospital until he was blue in the face, but he couldn’t find it in himself to fight it.

He nodded once more.

“I told the team I’d let them know once you were up.” Gamora broke the silence. “If you want to see them.”

“I do.”

He hesitated.

Something just felt so right about where they were now, wrapped up in tangled sheets on the floor, holding onto each other and being comforted by her presence alone.

“But?”

“Can we just... sit here for a little longer?”

Gamora seemed to understand. She gave him a warm smile and tilted her jaw in approval. This time, she wrapped her arms around his midsection and sunk into his embrace.

There was one thing he hadn't addressed.

“Did you jus’ kiss me?” Peter processed far too late.

“I did.” Gamora made a wet laugh against his chest.

“You did, babe! You kissed me!”

“You’re insufferable,” she said with no bite in her words.

So, yeah, maybe the Universe did give them an unfair amount of shit. But It also gave them something pretty damn amazing.

“I love you too.”

-o-

Their bed was a little bit more crowded that night.

Gamora was pressed against Peter’s back, holding him from behind and wrapping their legs together like serpents.

Rocket was just above Peter’s head, curled up in a protective ball around Groot. Mantis had situated herself against Drax’s legs, using his shins as some uncomfortable replacement for a pillow. Drax remained completely horizontal across the edge of the bed, a low-pitched sound resonating from him as he slept.

Gamora pressed her nose into the back of his neck and took in a deep breath. 

There weren't many times where the whole team could get together and be peaceful. It was a pleasant change from their usual rowdiness and turmoil, one of the few times where their collective anxiety from the day wore them out to the point where they were too weary to care whether or not they were being overly affectionate. Any other day and the vulnerability of sharing a bed wouldn’t go without objection. Tonight, no one even thought twice.

Gamora could sense from the rate and intensity of Peter’s pulse that he wasn't asleep, and he wouldn't be getting sleep anytime soon. She squeezed a little tighter and buried her face further into the crook of his neck. Gamora couldn't bear to be far from him. Even the close proximity they shared now was not enough.

“Peter?” Gamora whispered. He tensed beneath her hold, suggesting that he had been thinking about something troublesome.

Peter didn't respond, but turned around to face her. His eyes accompanied a tint of red in them, dark circles accentuating the sorrow they held. Gamora’s breath hitched. They reflected a pain she didn't expect to ever fully dissipate.

Peter’s emotions often ran deeper than just emotions. He held his torment physically too. She could see his mother’s death in his posture, the way he carried himself after a long day or the far away gaze he casted whenever a song on the Zune hit a little too close for comfort.

Gamora saw Ronan in his subtle twitches around anything of intense _purple,_ his body preparing for the excruciating pain of the Power stone. Mentioning any one of the infinity stones could have Peter squirming in his seat.

She could see Ego in the tired look on his face, the deep circles under his eyes never quite vanishing—the vibrant, spirit of childhood fading away like a distant memory.

She fiddled with their hands until they were clasped together. 

“Let’s go talk.”

Peter nodded and they got up, careful to avoid waking up any of their team. They were peaceful at the moment, but _stars_ knew that none of them would remain that way if they were to be woken up. Especially not Rocket.

Gamora followed behind Peter as he made his way over to the cockpit, their designated spot for conversations like this. He sat down in his seat and she sat in Rocket’s usual co-pilot seat. He looked off into the stars and _cringed._

“You're doing it again,” she said.

“Doing what?”

“Keeping everything inside.” Gamora shifted and sat with her legs tucked beneath her. “Slipping and not letting anyone else in.”

Peter laughed.

“You don't want to be inside my head right now.”

“But I do. I can help—"

“Why?”

Gamora fixed her gaze on Peter; he continued to look off into the galaxy, his eyes blank as he bit his lip.

“What?”

“Why do you want to help?”

Gamora was inarticulate for a moment. She was used to Peter’s playful, jealous brand of insecurity. He was never this crestfallen and self-doubtful about anything. She thought it was clear to him what he means to their team, to _her._

“Do you really have to ask that? I—”

Peter swallowed, a high-pitched laugh emitting from him as he ruffled his hand through his hair. 

“Why did you even kiss me? Why would—”

“What? Peter, please, let me fini—”

“Why me? Unless, you were just trying to shut me up… If that’s the reason, I can’t say I _blame_ you. If I was stuck with someone lik–”

“Stop! I love you, okay?” 

Gamora caught his attention then. He turned away from the window and stared into her eyes, face contorted as he appeared to be searching for something amidst her brown irises.

“You don't have to say it just ‘cause I did…”

“I’m not! I love you Peter Quill. I kissed you because I love you and because you did something so incredibly stupid and reckless and _brave_ , and I love you and I keep almost _losing_ you. I won't sit here and let you talk that way about yourself.”

Peter held his breath and let out an unsettling mix between a laugh and a sob.

“God, ‘Mora, I do too. I love you so, so much.” He paused, the tired look in his eyes weighing on the shallow circles beneath them. “But I’m stubborn and proud and impatient and I can't even protect you without dragging you into another one of my messes. You deserve so much better than this.” 

“None of those are exclusive to you, I am all of those things as well.” Gamora stood up and went off to kneel in front of him. “You have protected me like no one ever has. But do you know why I love you?”

“Why?” Peter whispered, looking down at her. She could see his childhood spirit hidden away behind the doubtful sparkle in his eyes, desperate to resurface after being locked in the dark for so long.

“You make me want to be better. To be good for you, for the galaxy.” Gamora reached up to stroke his cheek. She smiled as he leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed—showing her just how touch deprived he had gotten in such a short period of time.

“I love you because you show me how to love, and because you show me love every single day. You taught me. Back before I knew it to be nothing but a foolish concept.”

Peter hummed and pulled her up and onto his lap. Gamora smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I never had to teach you. It's been there all along.” There was a more joyful tone lacing his voice, and this time his eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled. He let out a softer, more Peter-like laugh than the nervous giggles he was emitting earlier.

“You helped me find it within myself, then.” Gamora leaned onto his chest and rested her head on the spot that was beginning to feel like home.

Peter held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Can I kiss you?” She could hear the hopefulness in his voice.

Maybe one day, when their lives are less hectic, the scars they had been given could finally be given the time to mend. Maybe they’d look back and remember this moment as the day they decided they were worth more than their collective trauma, that they deserve all of the love they have for each other.

“Do you really have to ask?” Gamora said as she leaned in for a second time.  
  
  


Yeah, they’d be alright.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was enough fluff there at the end to give you at least some Starmora optimism and satisfaction. I've been thinking more and more about vol. 3 recently and I'm very nervous for the outcome. At least if canon disappoints we still have fanfiction (James Gunn can pull my head-canons out of my cold, dead fingers). Although, I'm not too worried because the Russo Brothers are no longer here to Mess Stuff Up™ 
> 
> As always, if you enjoyed please leave kudos, reviews, or drop in your favorite quotes! :))


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